


But we'll carry our brothers (oh, we'll carry them home)

by AutumnHobbit



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Damian acts his age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 05:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10656348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/pseuds/AutumnHobbit
Summary: tantum-cobalt said: If you have time / still want to, I'd love to see some fluffy Tim & Damian being brotherly in public. Maybe at a party or some kind of WE event where the media is watching them all closely so they have to play nice? Or the media hassling one of them and the other coming to the rescue?________"Fine," Tim said flatly, yanking off his jacket and thrusting it at Bruce. "I'll find the gremlin. But you're probably going to have to have a talk with him where you explain that loving Selina doesn't mean you're invalidating his existence, if you two lovebirds are actually planning on seeing each other again within the next six months."





	But we'll carry our brothers (oh, we'll carry them home)

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out kinda less fluffy than was probably preferable, but oh well. Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> (Title from Lay Me Down by The Oh Hellos.)

_"Tim."_

Bruce's urgent hiss made Tim snap his head up from the technically-illegal champagne he'd been halfheartedly eyeing all evening in the vague hope that it might make the party slightly more tolerable. His eyes widened; his adopted father's tie was missing and his shirt collar was askew, and he was about as non-death-related frantic as Tim had ever seen him outside the cowl, so he stuck the champagne flute somewhere behind him onto what he hoped was a table and hurried over to Bruce. 

"What is it? Is it a vill--- _what..."_ Tim stopped short with a slight gasp now that he was up close. "Is that... _lipstick?"_  

Bruce flushed. "None of your business," he grumbled awkwardly. 

Tim bit his lip so hard he was surprised it wasn't bleeding, but it was worth it because he knew if he weren't stifling, his whacked-out grin/grimace would rival Joker's. 

"It's about _Damian!"_ Bruce insisted, clearly trying to change the subject. 

Tim sighed. Of course it was. "What did you do?"

"Well...I...see, I was simply having a conversation when I was," he coughed, _"interrupted_ and sort of...invited to the east corridor..."

Tim buried his face in his hands. "It was Selina, wasn't it."

Bruce's lack of an answer was an answer all its own, and Tim shook his head, not removing his hand from his face. "Why. What does this have to do with anything." 

"If you would _let me finish..."_ Bruce half-growled. Tim made a show of setting his jaw, and Bruce sighed, some of the irritation going out of him. "Selina and I were in the hall, and I didn't see Damian until he was right up close, and by the time I'd gotten straightened up and called him--"

"He'd run off," Tim finished, sighing.

"Yes. And now I can't find him anywhere." Bruce seemed relieved that discussion of his embarrassment was over. 

Tim blew out another breath, his bangs flipping up for a moment before flopping back over his eyes. "Fine," he said flatly, yanking off his jacket and thrusting it at Bruce. "I'll find the gremlin. But you're probably going to have to have a talk with him where you explain that loving Selina doesn't mean you're invalidating his existence, if you two lovebirds are actually planning on seeing each other again within the next six months." 

Bruce accepted the jacket with a bit of confusion. "Damian thinks that..."

"Yes. Duh. How could he not. You know how he is," Tim sighed, not willing to discuss it at length. He only knew because Dick had mentioned it at one point during one of his long rambles of his worries for Damian, and he didn't like to think about it too much. It was hard to hate the little brat when he actually acted his age for once; especially over something he should in no sane universe have reason to worry about. 

"Are...are you sure you're okay with doing this, Tim?" Bruce asked, and Tim cursed internally, because he could practically hear Bruce's brain coming back on and realizing-- _oh, Tim doesn't like Damian and might not be able to handle him, or want to._ "I can come with you..."

"No." Tim bit his tongue again at how harshly the word came out. "...I'll be fine," he forced his voice to ease off some, turning to meet Bruce's irritatingly repentant eyes. "Besides, he's upset with you right now. I might have better luck getting him to come back." 

Bruce nodded, subdued. "Alright. But...why did you need to take your jacket off...?"

"Because if I know the little snot--and I do," Tim sighed, "finding him will either involve scaling architecture that's not meant for climbing on, or crawling." 

____

 

In the end, it took him a little over an hour to find Damian. And he was not at all sure he would have been able to find him before morning if he hadn't happened to walk past a large china cabinet at the exact moment a small, squeaky sound came from it; a sound that suspiciously resembled a childish, sniffly snore. Tim froze, and then slowly turned and crouched down, very gently eased one of the cabinet doors open a crack. The faint light from the nearby ballroom revealed Damian's tiny shape, curled up into a ball with his knees beneath his chin. He was fast asleep, with tear streaks drying on his little brown cheeks. 

Tim silently eased the door shut again and hung his head, trying to psych himself up to try and extricate the boy from the cabinet without losing any limbs. Finally, he grabbed the door handle and carefully opened both the doors, cringing the entire time and praying that the light wouldn't wake Damian up. It didn't. Damian slept right through it. 

Tim dropped his hands onto his thighs, now staring at Damian asleep in the cabinet, in plain sight. He cautiously roved Damian's suit with his eyes. He couldn't _see_ any obvious weapons...but it was _Damian._ There were all sorts of places one could hide weapons in a three-piece-suit, even if it was tiny. 

Well. His options were to get Damian out himself, or go and get Bruce and risk him waking up. And while waking him up would have the pleasant side effect of Tim not having to gently finagle the little brat out of the cabinet, he was 100% in favor of more interactions with Damian wherein Damian was either unconscious or silent. So, Tim very slowly reached in and slid his hand underneath Damian's arm, trying to get a firm grasp in his armpit. Damian didn't stir, so he repeated the process. He paused, took a deep breath, and then gently tugged Damian out of the cabinet and towards him. 

Damian stirred, shifting his head and making a soft noise of discomfort, and Tim gulped, pulling him all the way into his lap and quickly securing him so he could still, holding his breath.

Damian's left hand came up clumsily, flopping slightly, and ran up the side of Tim's neck---Tim tried very hard not to instinctively panic, because _alone in dark hallway with tiny assassin touching neck(!!!)_ \---and then patted his cheek for a second, not so much affectionately, but more like Damian was trying to figure out who he was. Tim was pretty sure he'd pass out from oxygen starvation soon, but he was honestly scared to move. 

Damian's hand eased off his face, hovering for a moment. Then, it flopped down onto Tim's shirt front and fisted in it. Using his grip on the shirt, Damian pulled himself up a bit more and pressed his face against Tim's chest, rubbing his cheek against Tim's shirt. Then, he leaned his head against Tim's shoulder and slowly stilled again, breathing soft. 

Tim's jaw dropped. Was...was Damian _nuzzling?_ _Him?_  

He sat there in shock for probably five minutes, just unable to comprehend what he had just witnessed. What the frick. The little snot probably did it to Dick all the time. That was probably why he did it to Tim in the first place, come to think of it. He probably thought Tim was Dick.

 _An easy mistake to make, when nobody else ever even pretends to give a care about his feelings,_ an annoying voice in the back of Tim's head spoke up. Tim shook his head, dismissing the thought. Well, if Damian thought he was Dick, maybe he could take advantage of that fact, because there was no way in hell he was going back out into that ballroom cradling Damian bridal style like some kind of baby. He carefully hefted the kid up and shifted him around, finagling him so he was resting on Tim's back. He pulled Damian's hands up so they were placed near his collarbone, a good distance away from his trachea, thank you very much, and clasped them together, hoping it would be enough to keep him on. He then grabbed under Damian's calves, and pulled him up firmly onto his back as he stood. Damian's head lolled forward into his shoulder, and his hair tickled Tim's cheek, but his hands seemed fairly secure, so Tim set his jaw and marched back towards the ballroom and Bruce. He fully intended to demand an immediate return home and a very rare collectible Star Wars model as his payment for retrieving Damian unscathed. 

He slipped into the ballroom on the edges, hoping to avoid too much notice. He spotted Bruce on the other side of the room, chatting with Commissioner Gordon, and made a beeline towards him, just short of charging at ramming-speed. He slipped up beside Bruce and tugged at his jacket with his free hand. "Here. Fully-functioning with no holes or leaks. Can we go home?" 

Bruce glanced down with what looked like the beginnings of a very stern reprimand, but upon seeing Tim his eyebrows rose nearly into his hairline. "Uh....of course. It's late for you boys anyway." He nodded towards the Commissioner. "If you'll excuse me."

The Commissioner took a very long swig from his glass to (badly) hide his grin. "Of course. Have a good night," he said amiably. Bruce nodded politely and then wrapped an arm around Tim, his hand resting on Damian's back. Tim followed along obediently. 

"Do you want me to take him?" Bruce asked, once they were out in the parking lot.

Tim shook his head. "Nah. He's not that heavy. And I don't want you waking him up."

"...Alright," Bruce allowed, after a suspiciously long moment, and Tim shot him an irritated side-eyed glance at the paternal pleasure in Bruce's voice. It didn't remotely mean he liked the little brat. He was just carrying all the weight of the household, as usual. Besides, Damian was warm against his back, especially outside in the sudden chill. His half-snored breaths brushed Tim's hair against his ear. 

Tim slowed down when they reached the car, and allowed Bruce to lean down and gently ease Damian off of his back. Damian made a snuffling noise, re-positioning himself against Bruce's chest this time. Tim cringed at the sweaty spot on the shoulder of his shirt where Damian's cheek had been pressed. He slid into the front seat without a word, pointedly ignoring Bruce as he carefully buckled his son into his seat and brushed his sweaty bangs back from his small face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Tim adjusted his tie as Bruce climbed into the front seat and closed the door, started the car with a rumble. 

"Tim."

"Huh," Tim said, not looking up.

"Thank you for finding Damian and bringing him back safely. I appreciate it." 

Tim huffed. "Whatever," he said tiredly. 

He stiffened when Bruce's hand touched his head, but didn't resist or respond when he was lightly tugged to the side and a kiss was placed against his temple, the closest part of him Bruce could reach. He didn't respond, but his posture loosened a bit. Solely out of exhaustion, of course. He stared out the window as they drove, listlessly watching the streetlights flash by. 

He wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep, only that he woke up a bit when Bruce was tucking him into his bed. He sluggishly rolled his eyes--he was in high school, for crying out loud--but he was too tired to put up a fuss about it, and promptly fell asleep with the ghosting sensation of Bruce's hand in his hair. 

____

 

The following morning, Tim got out of bed at around 9:45, as was fairly typical of the mornings after charity balls. He wandered downstairs to find food, still half-asleep. 

When he stumbled into the kitchen, Bruce was nowhere to be seen---probably at WE, or down in the Cave---but Alfred was at the stove, and Damian was sitting at one of the barstools, lightly kicking his dangling legs. "Morning, Master Tim," Alfred said. "And how was the gala last night?"

Tim groaned, dropping into the barstool furthest from Damian and burying his face in his folded arms.

"That bad, Master Tim?"

"I'm just glad it's over, Alfie," Tim mumbled, not moving his head. He felt Alfred's hand give a gentle pat to his hair.

"Well, on the bright side, you were in this morning's newspaper," Alfred said, his voice warm, and Tim's head shot up. _"What?"_  

Alfred picked up the newspaper from atop the breadbox and set it down in front of Tim. The front page's headline was graced with a photograph of an exasperated-looking Tim with a very innocent-looking Damian snoozing on his back, with _"WAYNE HEIRS ARE TALK OF POLICE DEPARTMENT BALL."_

Tim gritted his teeth. He had hoped he would have been able to avoid being seen, but of course he couldn't. There were tons of press at that stupid ball. He glanced very cautiously at Damian, who was stone-faced and avoiding his gaze. 

"I must say, I will have to send a token of my gratitude to the photographer," Alfred said cheerfully. "I have wanted a good picture of both of my youngest grandsons for a very long time." 

Tim bit his lip and dropped his head into his hands. He couldn't be mad when Alfred played the grandfather card. 

He sat there in that position, and didn't move for a while. Eventually, a plate was set down in front of him, and he tipped his head up to give Alfred a faint smile as a thank you. Alfred returned it and brushed his bangs back from his eyes, giving him a quick kiss on his forehead before straightening. 

"I'll be upstairs fixing the light fixture in Master Dick's room if either of you need me," Alfred said to Damian and Tim. "Enjoy breakfast, and please behave."

Tim nodded but clenched his jaw, feeling like he was about four. He swirled his spoon around in his cream of wheat. At least Alfred hadn't fixed him eggs. 

He glanced over at Damian, who in fact had no breakfast left, but was still sitting on the barstool and swinging his legs and decidedly not looking at Tim.

"Look, it won't happen again," Tim said, sharp but tired. "Bruce just asked me to find you, so I did."

Damian kept swinging his legs, his gaze fixed firmly on the tabletop. "Tt. Of course it won't. Pennyworth and Father are pleased, so you have no reason to." 

Tim shrugged and went back to his cream of wheat. If it were a normal day, he might have taken Damian's haughty statement for what it was, but as he sat there eating, his stupid brain turned the sentence over and over and actually considered it. Was...was Damian actually _disappointed_ that he had no chance of it happening again? 

 _Or is he upset that you never treat him like he matters, because he_ wants _you to?_  

Tim pressed his lips together tightly. Why did his stupid conscience always have to come to these probably-incorrect-but-still-surprisingly-effective conclusions. And why did it always have to be when he had the least amount of willingness to try to actually talk things out. 

He didn't want to say anything, but not saying anything felt wrong, and he really didn't feel like having a long, angst-filled conversation with the demon spawn. He tried to tone his voice a bit jokingly, and remarked, "I have to say, I like you better asleep."

A beat. 

"Me too." Damian mumbled. Tim almost slammed his head against the table in frustration. Goshfrikkin--it was a _joke._ While he was in the midst of self-loathing over that little bungled interaction, Damian spoke again.

"You are a...suitable pack mule, Drake...for your purposes, I suppose." He humphed. He grabbed his plate and hopped off the barstool, wandering to the sink, placing his plate inside, and marching off without another word. Tim watched him go, with more than a bit of trepidation and some regret. Someday, they really would have to talk all this out, if they ever wanted their interactions to stop being such a mess of repressed emotions and intense issues. But for now, that was going to have to be as close of an _'I don't entirely hate you'_ as they could get. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr: autumnhobbit.tumblr.com


End file.
